


Saying It Properly

by d8rkmessngr



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Food, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d8rkmessngr/pseuds/d8rkmessngr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald realized something as he watches Tim. So he left. But then, he came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying It Properly

Don stared at Tim's profile as he talked on the phone, interrupted for the fourth time since coming by to take Timmy out to lunch. 

"...no, I'm sure the senator would agree that...no, no, I'm not arguing with you..."

But apparently the guy on the other end was. Don scowled as the buzzing audibly grew louder in Tim's earpiece. Amazingly though, Tim's voice went lower, as if soothing a wounded animal cornered somewhere. 

His scowl flipped and he caught himself grinning sloppily at Tim now. That kinda described what Tim did for him; coaxing Don out of the dark and twisted corners, even if Don wasn't ready to share what had left his soul in so many broken and bleeding pieces. Timmy didn't care. He just wanted to heal, to fix, to soothe. 

Tim glanced over, still doing his PR spin on yet another guy who thought he owned the senator. Tim nodded when Don tapped half-heartedly at his watch. Tim pointed to his earpiece, rolled his eyes, his voice never wavering and winked at him.

Damn, he loved the guy.

Don blinked and his mouth dropped open. Shit, when had that happened? No, no, fuck, _no_. He was done with love. He was done with all that emotional minefield crap that came with it. He didn't need to be drunk with it, because the euphoria only lasted until you were caught and then it made you do stupid things and blinded you to the fact that what you thought was your other half would rather stick a gun in his mouth than live with...

Don hadn't realized he'd stood up until he saw Tim's startled gaze on him, his words faltering as he looked up at Don, brow furrowed.

"Uh...Gary, excuse me for one second." Tim pulled the phone away and covered the mouthpiece. "Donald?"

"I should go," Don heard himself saying.

Something flickered across Tim's face. He swallowed but nodded minutely. "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry we kept getting..." His eyes acutely swept over Don's face with an intensity Don had seen him put toward the work he'd spread out across Don's dining room table despite the fact they were both supposed to be off on the weekends. Don fought the urge to take a step back from the scrutiny. 

"Is everything all right?" Tim asked softly. 

"Yeah. Fine." Don inwardly flinched at the snappish return. Tim's eyes widened a fraction then dulled a little. The guy couldn't have looked worse if Don had taken a swing at him— verbal or physical. Not that that would ever happen. Tim had been through enough of that from previous dickhead boyfriends. Don cracked a smile trying to soften the words. "I should be going. You're obviously busy."

Timmy made a little Continental shrug that helped to remind Don just how different they really were. "Never too busy for you." He made a move and Don just knew Tim was going to find some excuse to end that call. His heart raced. His hands jerked up to ward him back.

"Look, I have a client I gotta meet soon so I'm just going to head out."

Tim's shoulders dipped a bit. Don wasn't sure if it was because of Don's announcement or because he remembered Don swooping into his office minutes before gleefully declaring he had the afternoon free.

"All right." Tim smiled tentatively up at him. "Next time?"

No way. "Sure," Don said. He waved over his shoulder at Tim, but he wasn't fast enough to miss the smile on Tim's face wavering.

"Yes, uh...sorry, where were we?" Tim's voice drifted out of the room following Don. If it was unsteady, it only sounded that way because of the blood roaring in Don's ears.

 

The car cooperated for once and got Don away from the Senate building. He eyed his rearview mirror, the building shrinking behind him and suddenly he felt like the biggest asshole in the state. 

He sighed, stopping at a red light. Gazing blindly at the oncoming traffic as it streamed past, Don drummed his fingers against the steering wheel waiting for the light to change. He was being an asshole and he knew it. The traffic was heavy. It was noon. People were going to lunch. It was what people did. The light went green. 

Don hesitated, then swore as he flipped a u-turn crossing two lanes, ignoring the angry honking in his wake for not signaling.

 

When Don peered back into Tim's office, he swallowed at the sight of Timmy staring out through the blinds of his window. Don doubted he was enjoying the view out over the parking garage--assistants to Senator Lowe's Chief Aide not warranting prime real estate. 

Tim was turning a pen around in his hands, a half-eaten browning apple and a cup of tea sitting neglected on the desk. 

Don took a deep breath, then rapped lightly on the door.

The chair turned slowly, freezing when Tim saw who it was. 

Don stood in the doorway. "Hey."

Tim's fingers curled knuckle-white around the pen. "Hey."

Shrugging one shoulder, Don lifted up the plastic bag. "So uh...had lunch yet?"

Tim wordlessly gestured towards the apple, his eyes tracking Don as he slowly approached.

Don grinned crookedly at him. "Let me rephrase that: have you had real food yet?"

Unable to help himself, Tim smiled back. Still mute though as he watched Don pull container after container of food out of the bag, like characters bursting out of a clown car.

"Great place for Chinese food," Don babbled as he surveyed the red rickshaw tattooed cartons. Great, which one had been the fried rice without the peppers? Timmy was allergic. Peppers were bad. 

"Thought instead of going out for lunch, I'd bring lunch to you. Great place. Was one of my clients few months back..." Don rambled as he pried each flap open. Maybe Tim would like some General Tso? No, that had chopped red peppers. The lo mein? Shit, there were slivers of red pepper _everywhere_. Wonton soup—wait, what were those red bits floating—damn it. 

"One of my favorite things there is this House Special Noodle they do. Great stuff. Love that stuff..." He swallowed convulsively. Shu mai? Great, they'd dotted it with red stuff too. The stir fry? What the hell was wrong with the other colored peppers out there! "I could eat it everyday. Never get tired of it. Best thing. I love it. Uh...Yeah, great stuff." Christ, stop with the verbal diarrhea alrea—Yes! Red free fried rice!

Don stuck a spoon into the golden yellow, fluffy mound of rice. He peered into it, squinting and trying to determine if that was a pepper or a chili flake that had flown off the spoon.

"Uh, did you want the rice?" Tim asked hesitantly. He sounded loud after being quiet for so long. 

Don looked up and chuckled nervously. "Just checking if there were any peppers. It's good. Bon appétit." 

Tim cradled the carton close to his chest. His eyes warmed as they landed on Don.

"Didn't think you remembered." The _no one else had_ , was left unspoken. Yeah, his past boyfriends had been complete fuck ups. Not that Don was doing much better right now.

Don cleared his throat. "I remember a lot of things important to me." There, he could say that much. His throat was tight. Why couldn't he—damn it.

Scooping up a modest spoonful of rice, Tim blew on it before taking a bite. Don stared at his mouth as white teeth flashed, lips pursed slightly to eat.

"You're like my noodle," Don blurted out.

Tim's eyes rounded and he sputtered. Rice was never meant to be inhaled apparently. He wheezed, flapping his hands towards Don when he saw Don poised to vault over his desk.

"Wh...What?" Tim managed after a few gulps of tea.

Don slumped in his seat. He poked at his carton of General Tso's. "You're...like my..."

"Okay, okay!" Tim yelped. He flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Don would have smacked himself in the head if it didn't meant stabbing himself with his own chopsticks. "No! Not like that!"

A blink and Tim visibly relaxed, slumping back into his chair. The flush, however, still stained his face and Don was tempted to crawl up his lap and see if it tasted like anything.

"Oh thank God," Tim sighed. "I thought it was a euphemism for something highly inappropriate for the workplace." Tim took another sip of tea. "Noodle? What are you talking—I get that you really…Oh." 

Don could see Tim reviewing the conversation in his head. Tim's mouth curved shyly and he peered over his glasses at Don.

"Well, I guess you're...me too..." Tim poked at his rice, suddenly fascinated.

Don grinned. One of these days he'd be able to say it properly. He hoped when he did, it would still make him feel as fantastic and lightheaded as he felt right at that moment. 

Tim dug around in his rice but he was grinning now. Don knew there was a matching goofy grin on his own face and he spared Tim by ducking down to spear some deep fried, glossy red chicken. As he raised a morsel to his mouth, Don stopped.

"Wait, what do you mean 'highly inappropriate for the workplace'?"

"Donald!"

"No. No. Does this mean you'd be willing to 'do the noodle' at home?" Don was snickering openly now. 

"Donald, stop!" 

"Nope, never gonna happen." Donald was laughing right along with Tim now, blue eyes shining into hazel, and it felt good, really good.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: just an old ficlet I wrote for someone who needed cheering up...


End file.
